


Crimson Hands

by veridium_bye



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, F/M, Femme Fatale, Loss of Parent(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 14:17:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16087817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veridium_bye/pseuds/veridium_bye
Summary: Veronica Crespin hasn't joined the Inquisition with the cleanest of reputations. A former renegade assassin and famed Denerim murderer who was cursed as the "Crimson Cutter" by most everyone in Fereldan, her friendship with the beloved Inquisitor seems the be her only saving grace. But, when she comes across the one man who doesn't fear her blades both strapped to her hip and on her tongue, surprises abound Skyhold. All bets are off as the bond between a Tevinter mercenary and a Fereldan femme fatale slowly boils over.





	Crimson Hands

“Veronica, either you cut it with the mouth or I return to my office and actually get something done,” Theia said, one side of the foot-traced sparring circle. On the other half, a most frustrated and bitter Veronica halfheartedly paced, borrowed staff in hand as she oscillated between wanting to quit and wanting to scortch the Earth around her.

“What am I to learn if you’ll just knock me flat on my ass every time, Theia? Shit,” Veronica yelled back, dropping her weapon and getting to work unbuttoning her top.

“Oh, so now you’re going to seduce your way out of this?” Theia verbally sparred now.

“You fuckin’ wish, you pale prude!”

From the makeshift sidelines, several people had gathered around to witness the surefire disaster unfold after it was made known that Theia would help Veronica train her Mage talents back up to her former prime. While they had proven the thickest of thieves as friends, it wasn’t long before everyone understood just why the two women were always at each other’s throats: between Theia’s stubborn streak and Veronica’s egotistical temper, sparks flew not just from their magically imbued hands, but from their mouths and eyes.

One one end, there was Josephine and Leliana standing beside one another, with Olivia sitting on the edge of the stone stair railing leading up to the Battlements. They were soon joined by the Seeker, who heard the commotion become particularly feisty from her workspace up in the Smith’s loft.

“Maker, how long have they been at this?” she asked, arriving at Olivia’s side. Olivia, one leg tucked under her thigh and the other foot swinging back and forth lightly, shrugged with a bittersweet attitude.

“About an hour. Theia is having a hard time cracking Veronica’s insecurity, and Veronica...well...she just is having a hard time with Theia in general, I’m afraid,” Olivia sighed.

“I have a hard time believing Theia used to have feelings for this woman. Was she a glutton for punishment?” Leliana spoke the awkward past into existence, prompting Josephine to stiffen her shoulders a bit in response. Olivia folded her arms as she watched her two friends pace around each other, grumbling and trying to put off being exposed to more of each other’s vitriol.

“Theia was much softer in our days. She hadn’t come into her own voice yet. Veronica pretends she is, but it’s more of a facade,” Olivia clarified, hands busily playing with her hair that was gathered over her shoulder.

“Ugh,” Cassandra exhaled, “is every concern in the Inquisition carrying a subtext of lust, now?”

“You are one to talk, Seeker Pentaghast,” Josephine replied, eyeing both her and Olivia from her periphery with a sly grin on her lips. Cassandra, recognizing now that she couldn’t simply judge others for their choice in romantic misadventures made public, straightened out her posture and returned her attention to the scene at hand.

Theia twisted her spine from side to side in a stretch, preparing for another berrage of blocking and deflecting cheap shots followed by random dagger blades.

“Now, pick something, and just focus on it,” she advised, twisting her staff between her hands casually.

“Ugh, Theia,” Veronica groaned, setting her coat off to the side on the ground, leaving only her tight smallclothes top which covered her chest and not much else -- way to be practical, Veronica -- and walking back into her half of the circle.

“I mean it, you loved fire, why are you so picky now?” Theia continued.

“Fine, fine, fuck it. Fine.”

Veronica rolled her head back, loosening her posture as her mind’s eye went to her staff once more. It then illuminated with fire power in its crest, swirling streaks of flame preparing for expression. Veronica hadn’t used a staff in a long time, and even as she had spent so many intensive hours in the Circle training her talents, it felt like a lifetime ago where she felt comfortable in her own skin like this. When she had finally admitted to Theia that she wished to build herself back up, it was as much a terrifying as it was hopeful opportunity.

Holding the staff in position, she placed a hand out in front of her, and eyed Theia like she would an adversary. Theia, walking to her position and smoothly swinging her well-worn staff behind her, in tune with her like a limb of her own body would be, she stood less aggressively in wait. Tall, feet only a shoulder-width apart, like she was about to enter a conversation.

“Alright,” she said low, “hit me.”

Veronica let a growl emanate from her gut up into her mouth, her eyes becoming inflamed with flickers of ember-hued light as she summoned a fire wall. It had been a while since Theia had seen her cast such a spell -- but when she used to, it was quite marvelous. Watching her amass the energy and grow a shield of flame in between them, she waited. The Inquisitor’s breath shallowed, but not in nervousness.

Then, once she had built up enough, Veronica held the staff out at her side, and thrust her arms and chest forward, sending the wall stampeding towards Theia in the air, ready to engulf her. Once it had made it’s crossover onto her side of the circle, Theia released her breath sharply out of her diaphragm. Her exhalation came out in a frost, and grew from a small breath into a large cloud ring around her, which collided with the fire and sent a whistling sound up in the air as it absorbed and neutralized it in the blink of an eye. The powdery snow and melted moisture in the air collapsing in on itself, snuffing out the fire like a candle light.

That was a weak spell, hardly strong enough to last a blow of chilled wind.

“Good. Again,” Theia said in an unimpressed monotone. She saw through the ice cloud as it began to dissipate, that Veronica was ready to snap her weapon in half.

“Again?! Why waste my mana on something that won’t work?” Veronica yelled, hunching again.

“Because, you need to dig deeper. You’re not touching the core of your strength, you’re just throwing sparks at me,” Theia replied, setting her staff reverently down onto the ground horizontally in front of her. “You’re holding back. Why?”

“I’m not holding back, I just haven’t the faintest clue what you’re talking about!”

“Yes you do. Remember our mentors, when we’d be half-assing our training in the morning? They’d say “it’s not fancy that you can blow smoke up your own ass, fight.” Fight, Veronica.”

“Ugh, that was all bullshit, Theia, don’t think you’re some flighty, fancy Mage now ‘cause you got big Inquisitor’s tits and a smart mouth.”

Theia sighed, folding her arms and feeling the cold morning air in conversation with her powers within her body. “You’re never going to get to where you want to be by giving me lip service.”

From the opposite end of the circle ring, Iron Bull and a couple of his Chargers leaned up against the corner wall of the Pub in a shaded area that didn’t bring too much attention to their staring. He crossed his broad arms, and huffed in reaction to the stalemate of words that was taking place.

 

“You’d think Mages got their powers from sheer spite and not whatever Fade-conjured shit it comes from, the way they’ve been going at it” he observed, his head tilting slightly.

From behind him, Krem approached to get a better look of the action. From their point of view, they could see the Inquisitor’s face, tired and undaunted, facing towards her opponent. Veronica’s back, now gently glistening with perspiration from the hour’s worth of sparring they had done, proved more interesting to look at. The way her muscles cringed, and the scars across her sides intimidated like those on an animal hide.

“Wonder when we’ll get use of the sparring grounds again, and that’s if they down catch it all in flames,” he observed, resting his weight unto one hip.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Bull groaned, thinking back to the time when Theia and Dorian had “accidentally” conjured a pyromantic explosion which caught all the outside straw men on fire and scortched the surrounding building walls with smoke. Their problematic behavior was what eventually inspired them to find a specific sparring area for Mages beyond the fortress walls, where elemental catastrophe wouldn’t set back the rest of the Inquisition personnel a week in their exercises. Cullen hardly looked either of them in the eye on an individual or paired basis for days afterword.

Lessons learned: never let Theia and Dorian argue about if pyromancy is the superior to ice magic.

Looking over at his men, he saw Krem and the way he was focused on the brunette Mage with enough anger to tear down the mountain. Of course, he thought, his eyes would fasten on her of all people. She was tall, dark, and gorgeous: but perhaps the Tevinter was a little more ignorant as to why people were as much afraid of her as they were attracted to her. Seeing an opportunity to make light of his friend’s folly, he chuckled under his breath.

“Now, Krem, don’t go falling for the one woman in this place who looks like she could not give a single shit whether or not she steps on a kitten’s tail,” he teased, nudging Krem in the shoulder just enough to put him off balance. Stumbling a step back, Krem scoffed.

“Chief, I’m doing no such thing, get off my back, will you?”

“I’m just saying. I know you have a type.”

“And what type is that, then?” Krem crossed his arms, his shoulders turning to face his Boss.

“The kind that you think are secretly sweet little maidens underneath their hardened exterior. Believe me, I know where she’s been, and there isn’t anything sweet about her. She’s the kind that looks down at fresh corpses ready for the pyres, and smiles.” Iron Bull’s Tamassren profession meant the minute Veronica was conscripted, he knew everything about why, how, and on what conditions she was to be here. The Crimson Cutter wasn’t the most demure of titles to have, and her resume was prolific. The Inquisitor wasn’t known for having docile company, that was for certain: but a blood-thirsty Mage with a hunger for justice? How could that ever possibly go wrong?

History would say a thousand different ways.

Krem’s brow furrowed, and he gazed over at her as she prepared to take another swing at her adversary. The mystery of why she had been brought here made a hundred different rumors circulate: that she was an assassin who found the Inquisitor defenseless in her chambers, and threatened to kill her if she didn’t recruit her. That she was her former lover who blackmailed her into providing her political protection. That she was a blood mage who had worked her way into the hearts and minds of those highest in the Inquisition’s ranks.

But, when he saw her lurking, or practicing, or stopping in the pub for an ale, he couldn’t help but just see a woman who had better things to do then be idle. Still, Bull was his most trusted friend as well as his Boss, so when he gave an order to steer clear, logic would say to follow it. After all, he didn’t need more trouble, or a reason for people to distrust him as a Tevinter mercenary.

“As if Krem could even get her -- he knows not to bite because it’d be too much of a mouthful,” Dalish called from behind, where she and a few from the group had been sitting on a barrel and watching. Krem was many things -- a capable fighter, a good friend, and a kind heart -- but he was not exactly the most capable at romantic machinations. He was sweet and easygoing, the kind of person people like Veronica chewed up and spat out when they were done taking advantage of their compassion.

Krem growled a bit under his breath, feeling annoyed with the longevity of the conversation.

“I am capable of landing a woman like any of you, that isn’t the issue,” he grumbled, shifting his weight between his feet.

Bull smirked. “It’s good to know your limits, Krem. Just as long as you don’t take her on as a...learning experience,” he talked out the side of his mouth.

“I said I’m not interested and I mean it. She is ten miles of Crestwood back trail,” Krem huffed, turning away as he took one last look at the Mage woman who seemed to have everyone in Skyhold vexed. Either they loved her, or they hated her -- there was no in-between around here. As he began to take his leave, the Dalish got in her one final comment:

“Ten miles of back trail does sound rather fun, you think?” a dash of mischief in her voice as she eyed him. Krem turned and looked back at her one final time, shaking his head with a grin, before returning to the pub for another serving of ale whilst they all waited to be able to use the training area once more.

Meanwhile, little progress had been made between the Inquisitor and her friend. More easily-diffused fire walls, some shoddy counter-attacks, and cursing on Veronica’s part. To be fair, Theia’s smug attitude wasn’t helping as much as it could be. Clearly, being the Herald of Andraste and the Inquisitor had grown on her ego more than she could know. It annoyed Veronica almost as much as her raw talent had back in the day, when they were apprentices in the Circle.

“Why don’t you put down your magic and pick up a weapon, so we can get some real training exercise out of this?” Veronica spat, sweating even more from the exertion of energy and mana that she did not have the strength to portion out.

Theia sighed, setting her staff against a nearby barrel, rolling her shoulders again.

“You just want to prove you have something on me,” Theia replied, walking back to her position in the circle ring. “Besides, you hardly fight fair.”

“No one fights fair, Theia.”

Theia huffed, at her wits end with having to duel Veronica both with magic and wordplay. It was time to shut her up and end this strenuous activity. Wiping some hair from her face, she went to the side of the ring where a rack of sparring poles were awaiting usage by anyone and everyone willing. Grabbing two, she strutted her way to her friend, stopping with a couple yards between them and tossing the spare her way. Veronica, smug with vindication, grabbed it out of the air with ease.

“You think you have the upper hand on me and that I am some pretty little Mage throne-warmer? Fine, try me, Veronica.” Theia growled.

Veronica rolled her shoulders with bravado, her weathered muscles tensing and shifting. “Oh, Theia baby, you still beg for an ass-kicking like you always did.”

“Let us see who is left begging for more,” Theia’s irises began to surge lightly with purple, her energy and ego fluctuating in response to the smack talk.

Like a swift and sobering wind gust, Veronica came at her friend with a force that made her magic practice pale in comparison. Wielding the pole above her head as she twirled and took a swing aiming for Theia’s left side. The Inquisitor promptly countered, shaking off the initial attack and taking her own shot now, spinning and holding her pole in a stiff underhand as she sought out Veronica’s weak spot. This began the dance between the two tenacious and overconfident women, swinging and blocking like a choreographed demonstration on how to entice an enemy into a stalemate.

Leliana, Josephine, Olivia, and Cassandra watched with heightened anxiety. Theia had given into Veronica’s egging on, and now it seemed that the two were now engaged in a battle of tempers rather than a Magic practice. Hearing Veronica roar as Theia stuck the end of the pole into her back, jabbing her off of her balance, they all slightly flinched in reaction to the fury in her tone.

“Theia shouldn’t have done this, she knows Veronica will take it too personally if she loses,” Olivia sighed, her shoulders slouching a bit as she curled one leg up against her chest.

Cassandra turned and looked at her. “Veronica needs to toughen her skin if she is to fit in here. Not every training round is a personal devastation,” she countered with care, knowing Olivia was only meaning compassion and not weakness.

“Has anyone told Veronica that the Inquisitor has been training to become a Knight Enchanter?” Ambassador Montilyet inquired to the group. When everyone gazed back with looks of “not in the slightest,” she pursed her lips and returned her eyes to the fighting in front of them.

“Well then, an assassin and a Knight Enchanter crossing poles. The egos are nearly large enough to consume this side of the Frostbacks, no?” Leliana bit back a snicker.

Back in the training ring, both women had snuck in jabs onto each other’s sides and tripped each other up, but no one victor prevailed yet. Growing impatient, Theia circled around Veronica with a quick aggression. She then came at her, and the two swung and crossed poles in several alternations of hands and grips before Veronica took a low blow swing at her knees, knocking the Inquisitor down onto her back, her knees bent upwards.

Seeing her hit the ground, Veronica bared her teeth before spitting at the ground. “You fuck as good as you fight, Theia? If so, the Ambassador must be getting some on the side,” she hissed, stepping one leg over Theia’s abdomen and snuggly gripping her sides with her ankles as she stood over her. She rest the end of her pole on the space between Theia’s breasts.

Theia was heaving air in and out of her lungs. Gazing up at her friend, with her self-satisfied grin and her weapon bearing down on her chest like she was a done-in animal, her rage was brewing like a typhoon.

Just as it seemed Veronica had claimed her victory, Theia sent a jolt of static energy up her pole that was resting on her skin. Letting out a sharp cry, Veronica let go of her weapon and stepped back, providing an opening for Theia to snatch the pole out of the air and use her legs to hoist herself up onto her feet once more. Taking advantage, Theia pushed forward, alternating both poles between both hands’ worth of fingers in unison.

She made eye contact with her friend as she stuck one pole into the damp ground.

“If I fought as good as I fucked, Veronica, you wouldn’t have enough air in your lungs for your endless bitching,” Theia growled, her irises flickering brighter now as she held her weapon, ready for more.

On the sidelines, once again all eyes turned towards Ambassador Montilyet, who would be the only expert on the subject to hold the Inquisitor accountable for such claims. Feeling the curious attention, she blushed slightly, before taking the opportunity to be a bit proud.

“There is a reason why the Inquisitor’s bed frame tapestries have had to be replaced seven times, and that is all I will disclose on the subject,” she commented.

Leliana’s and Olivia’s brows both raised high enough to almost ascend into the sky, whilst Cassandra sighed hoarsely under her breath.

Back in the ring, both women now stood face-to-face, chests fluxing with exertive breath.

“You used magic when this was supposed to be a hand-to-hand combat,” Veronica put her hands on her hips.

Hearing her friend’s call of unfairness, Theia cracked a sadistic smile. “No one fights fair, Veronica.”

“Indeed. Not even the Herald of Andraste’s tits can be bothered to have ethics,” Veronica approached the pole stuck in the ground in front of her friend. She didn’t care of Theia would prove territorial and come for her -- the fight wouldn’t be over that easily. When Theia allowed her to grab it out of the ground -- yanking stiffly, as it was rather deep in the soil -- she held it over her shoulder.

The Inquisitor watched her every move, but was resigned to the efforts of the day.

“We’re done here, Veronica. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

“That’s if I agree to it, which, after this little show, I doubt you’ll get me anywhere near your sparkly ass.”

Theia exhaled, relaxing her posture now from a sparring partner, to that of a begrudgened friend. “You need to practice if you are to improve. You came to me for help. Just let the ego stay at the door and work with me, here.”

“I came for help from a friend, not from a smug Princess who’s had all the time in the world to practice shocking things and freezing everyone’s brains out.”

“Enough!” Theia’s voice hissed with frost as she sharply raised her tone and volume. The ways in which Veronica had been poking and prodding at her pomp and opulence was grading on her, and now she was at her limit. “Veronica, if you think me so cushioned here, by all means..” she then took off her combat glove that she had only on her left hand, exposing a palm that was curdling and rippling with green light from her exertion of magic.

“Take it!” she growled, holding it out as if she were offering a handful of something. “Take this boon from my body and I will be as useless as you think me to be!”

Veronica stood still, watching her friend come undone and stick up for herself. In her heart, she knew her malice towards Theia was ignorant. Maker only knew just how much she had to endure in these months, and the mark on her hand was the most visible and painful reminder of her task in life. Her face remained unimpressed even though internally, she wished she could simply apologize and hug her. The bane of pride’s existence was friendship.

“Theia, forgive me. I appreciate your dedication in life. Undermining you was not my intention,” she conceded stiffly. “I will see you later.”

Taking the pole and returning it back to the rack, she then went for her coat and picked it up off the ground. All the while, Theia stared at the ground, recoiling herself as she slid her protective glove back onto her doomed hand and forearm. She didn’t stop Veronica, and she didn’t move until her friend had fully withdrew from the space. When that happened, Theia lifted her gaze to the group of women who had been watching, and, in a self-conscious mood, she tossed the pole to the rack and walked off towards the stairs which led to the Great Hall.

“I am sure this is not the last I will hear of this,” Josephine admitted, folding her arms.

“Nor I,” Olivia agreed, hopping off of the wall she had been sitting on and turning towards Cassandra. “I am going to check on Veronica. I will see you tonight,” she said sweetly with a concerned frown on her face.

Cassandra nodded in return, and approached Leliana as both the Ambassador and Olivia retreated to their respective duties.

“She is a loose canon, and the Inquisitor is too bonded to her as a friend to let her go unattended.”

Leliana grinned slyly. “You are correct. However, Veronica reminds me a great deal of myself. In that, I understand her. She is not a lost cause, Cassandra.”

“Well, then something must be done to get to her, before she exhausts every capable Mage in Skyhold with training her.”

“Perhaps it is not the boon of being a Mage that troubles her. Perhaps she has lost faith in herself. Either way, she will need careful tutorship.”

The women walked off, embarking on a short conversation, whilst the grounds grew quiet. From the pub window, Krem watched the scene unfold and end. Holding his cup of ale in his hand, he could feel the sensation that Bull and the Chargers had teased him for. Veronica was many things, but to him, she was anything but a lost cause.


End file.
